


Little Town, Little Talks

by Dutch



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Falling In Love, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Slow Build, Stridercest Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dutch/pseuds/Dutch
Summary: Ambrose Strider's little brother blows in to his dusty little town bringing about a summer full of adventure, that bleeds in to a winter with a little more emotion.Stridercest Secret Santa 2017





	Little Town, Little Talks

**Author's Note:**

> For Ryn! Enjoy friend!

The scent of oil and gasoline was heavy on the sinuses. The floor of the mechanic’s shop was black and shiny with it and slick with grease. The floor drains in the cold cement floor were plugged with it, so thick bleach couldn’t even cut it.

Wrenches and sockets rattled in the toolbox drawer as somebody looked for the right size. Boots clunked. There was a car in the parking lot with one of its cylinders missing rhythm. A can of WD-40 hissed as it was sprayed on something too rusted to remove. The shop was noisy, almost deafeningly so, especially when one of the other mechanics started up a car inside.

Sunlight streamed in through the open garage doors on the front of the building, making the overhead bulbs look dim. Outside large, fluffy clouds drifted, and with them came a small breeze blew that rustled the emerald green grass. It was just another summer Texas afternoon, scorching hot heat that was inescapable even in the shade. There were fans on inside the shop, but they hardly helped.

Sweat dripped down the side of Ambrose’s temple, where it fell on to the ground beneath him. He needed to wipe his face, and he needed to crawl out from under busted 2011 Impala he’d been assigned and take a break.

Bro glanced over to check the jack was still properly in place before he rolled out from under the car. He sat up, flexing his aching fingers and sighed. He grabbed a rag next and used it to wipe off his fingers before he used his shirt sleeve to wipe his face.

He’d seen this very same view for the last fifteen years. Straight in front of him was another car, a 1996 Pontiac with a broken window motor. Down the line was an F150 that needed an oil change. Further down the line, there were, even more, cars, until the building ended in a blank brick wall. The toolboxes were on the wall to his right, along with a huge neon sign with the company’s name and rows and rows of automobile manuals sorted by year. The only thing that changed about this place was the people.

“Hey! Bro! Somebody here to see you. Out front,” the voice of his boss shouted over the noise.

A visitor? No. There was no way. Sure there were people in town that knew him but nobody would come to visit him at work. He wasn’t that friendly. Bro hauled himself up despite the creaking in his knees. He wasn’t that old, really, he was barely forty, but manual labor was hard on the joints. Without so much as stretching his back, Bro stumbled outside into the too warm sun.

Out front was the general area where the broken cars got parked. Ones that hadn’t been assessed or fixed yet, and it was also where the driveway pulled in off the road. There was a car parked up close to the office part of the building, and it was running. It was a 2010 Malibu, red, with a dent in the door. Needed new tires, but no rust. Out of force of habit, Bro listened to the sound of the engine. It didn’t sound off, not at all. Where was the driver? Bro looked down, kicked a rock and resolved to wait, but not long. He was on the clock.

He was just about to head back inside when the door to the shop office opened, the bell over the door jingling. The kid that stepped out wasn’t much older than eighteen if he was even that. He was a long-legged guy, little meat on his bones but average enough height to balance it out. His blue jeans were like new, and his shirt was unstained white. When Bro’s fingers curled into a fist, the hair on his knuckles was the same color as the hair on this kid’s head.

“Hey, sorry. Receptionist said you’d meet me inside, they musta told you something different,” the stranger said flatly.

“What’s all this about?”

“You’re Ambrose, right? Ambrose Strider?” He asked. When Bro didn’t budge, he pointed his own finger to his chest and continued. “Dave Strider.”

Bro didn’t say anything. The kid, Dave, squirmed.

“I don’t reckon I know you,” he said finally.

“Uh, well I’m your brother. Full brother. According to Mom, you’d already left home by the time I was born. Awesome escape act though, gotta let me in on how you got away because she calls me every three hours,” he tried to explain, laughing nervously, but he was sweating nervously on top of the heat. “You wouldn't know me. But I was hoping that we, Uh. That we could. Know each other that is. Assuming you want to. Because I do. Do want to know you. Uh.”

Bro’s lip twitched, threatening to curl up in a snarl, but he willed it down. This kid wasn’t about to get a rise out of him.

“Seriously? Look, I don’t want to play family drama. If that’s what you’re here for, go home.”

“I’m not interested in family drama. I was just Uh. Wondering if you wanted to spend the afternoon together,” Dave replied quietly.

Bro bit the inside of his cheek and rolled it. They did know each other. Bro wasn’t sure if he wanted them to know each other. He hasn’t spoken to either of his parents in quite some time. At least as long as Dave had been alive. It wasn’t like they’d parted on bad terms either, just sort of lost touch. Dave wasn’t them though. This was a fresh start with a new person. It couldn’t be so bad, could it?

Dave looked down, kicked at the dirt, and looked up, his eyes falling somewhere on to Bro’s chest. He was much too nervous to make eye contact. He’d come a pretty long way, he was probably afraid of being sent away. Finally, Bro decided to take pity on the kid.

“Yeah. I guess I could spare an afternoon. Let me tell the boss.”

Bro let himself relax, and Dave relaxed too like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Dave moved out of the way as Bro strode past, pushing open the office door and waltzing back behind the front desk to the bosses office. He knocked once and then pushed open the door.

Bro’s boss was a near sixty-year-old balding man. He didn’t know him that well, but he knew he could leverage himself some off time, seeing as everybody else slacked off constantly.

“Your friend leave?” Bro’s boss didn’t even look up from his computer.

“No, I gotta go. Family emergency.”

“I didn’t know you had family,” the man replied, his back still to him. Bro tried not to feel insulted. Tried and failed. He really should have expected it by now.

“Haha,” Bro mocked, his arms folding. He didn’t have to put up with this. “Every sorry bastard has one, even me.”

“You know I really don’t have the resources to just let people jump off whenever,” the man retorted.

“Yeah. You go ahead and take that up with my sonority,” Bro spat and turned around. He didn’t even shut the door behind him. He made a point to walk on the carpet and not on the protective mats, his boots tracking dirt past the secretary and back out into the parking lot.

Dave was outside still, but he’d moved to stand in the shade of the building. He pulled his phone out when Bro left, and promptly looked up when he returned. He didn’t speak a word, but his poker face was terrible. Bro could see how hopeful he looked under his barely raised brow.

“So,” Bro inhaled a deep, fresh breath. “What did you have in mind?”

 

* * *

 

The little waste away town Bro called Home had exactly two places to eat. One was a bar that opened at three, and the other was a restaurant. Since it was only noon, there was only one choice. His truck rolled into a parking space, and Dave’s red Malibu rolled up next to it.

Bro and the waitress were on a first name basis. Not because they hung around each other, but because despite the town being off the expressway it didn’t have a ton of permanent residents. She looked bored out of her mind as she approached the table and pulled out her notepad.

“The usual, Ambrose?” She droned without even greeting him.

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“And you?” The waitress asked without even looking up. Dave looked down at the menu for a moment, sort of bewildered that someone would be asking for his food order before his drink.

“Could you just bring me a burger and fries?” He said finally. “Coke to drink, please.”

“I’ll go put it in,” the waitress replied, tearing off her page as she walked away. Dave watched her go behind the register counter, slap the paper on the window sill to the kitchen, and ring a small silver bell.

“Alright then,” Dave muttered.

“Yeah, that’s par for the course,” Bro replied. He hadn’t been watching her, but he’d been here enough times to know exactly what she had done.

The conversation sort of ended there. The silence prolonged into an uncomfortable shifting at the table. Dave fussed with his menu, then with his silverware, then with the salt and pepper shakers. Bro wasn’t going to lie and say he was doing much better. He kicked his legs out on the table, leaning back in his chair he looked down, focusing for just a moment on the worn tabletop before he sat up again.

Dave cleared his throat before he spoke. “So uh. What’s there to do around here for fun?”

“Not much. Wrench on cars. Drink. Tv.” Bro hadn’t meant to sound quite so blunt, but with his tone, it certainly came out that way.

Dave looked down and paused for a long, awkward moment before pulling out his phone. Shit.

This was nerve-wracking. Bro honestly hated to admit it, but Mr. Cool was losing his cool. He didn’t want to look that way, but under his stoic expression, he was crawling with anxiety. He was fucking this up. The first time he sees family in close to twenty years and he can hardly manage to speak to him.

“So,” Bro cleared the lump from his throat. “What do you do? For fun.”

“Oh uh,” Dave looked up from his phone. “I like music. Uh. Video games. Photography. I develop my own pictures.”

“Cool,” Bro nodded thoughtfully, and then reminded himself you couldn’t build a conversation out of one word. “How’d you get into that?”

“I took a class in high school. I had a really good teacher, thankfully. Shit, it was just supposed to be a blow-off class but it turned out fun,” Dave replied. He looked back down at his smartphone and opened an app.

“Here,” he said, trusting his phone into Bro’s hand. “I took those. I mean, if you wanna see them. I upload them from my camera to my phone.”

Bro’s fingers might have been black stained with oil, but he was careful of Dave’s phone as he swiped right to see the pictures. He took a lot of landscapes. A lot of selfies too, and there were a couple of people he recognized as well, and sunrises. Bro did not have an eye trained in photography but he thought they were all pretty damn good.

“I like ‘em,” he muttered, handing Dave back his phone.

“Thanks,” he practically beamed, and something rolled sickly sweet and unfamiliar in Bro’s gut. He was cute, for his age anyway. A smile looked good on him.

The clank of plates on the table brought Bro’s attention back to the room around him. His food was slid right in front of him, followed by a tall plastic glass of soda and a straw landed next. Dave’s food followed the waitress balancing a now empty tray in her left hand. They’d ordered the exact same thing, Bro knew that of course, but Dave hasn’t. The gears turned in his head as he glanced across the table.

“Enjoy,” The waitress said flatly, turning to leave.

“Shouldn’t this have ketchup?” Bro asked, peeling his bun up to check. He’d only asked for it a million times, he knew how this place operated.

“Shouldn't you be at work?” The waitress retorted sourly and left for a moment. When she returned, she slammed a bottle of ketchup down next to him. Dave waited until she’d left to reach for the bottle and coat his fries in the stuff.

“Par for the course still?” He asked, popping a fry in his mouth.

“Yup,” Bro huffed, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. He grabbed the bottle back and doused his burger with it. He sunk his teeth into his meal, and regardless of how many time he’d been there, it was still as good as the first time.

“These are pretty good,” Dave noted.

Bro grunted, his mouth full of food. He had to chew to swallow before he could speak. “Bar’s are better. I’ll take you up there if you want, how long are you gonna be in town?”

Dave shifted and frowned like he wasn’t really sure. “I dunno. It’s summer so I guess I don’t have to run home. But I don’t have anywhere to sleep beside my car.”

“Like hell,” Bro snorted. “You’re staying with me.”

“Are you sure that’s okay? I don’t wanna put you out or anything,” Dave said.

“Of course I'm sure,” Bro grinned, if only to bring the smile back to Dave’s face.

 

* * *

 

Bro’s house didn’t have much furniture, to begin with. He was using a fold down futon for a couch, his television sat on cinder blocks, and his coffee table had come off the side of the road. His own bedroom only contained a bed.

He didn’t spend a lot of time here, so there wasn’t really a reason to get over the top with decorating. As he opened the front door for Dave though, he felt a little embarrassed. What kind of grown man didn’t even bother to buy furniture?

Dave didn’t seem to mind though. He threw his bag down by the end of the futon and took it all in without saying a word.

“You’re welcome to anything in the fridge,” Bro stated.

“Okay,” Dave agreed, not quite finished taking in the house. Slowly he walked into the mobile home’s kitchen and then back out into the living room. He took a seat on the futon after that, seeing as he had limited choices, and Bro sat down opposite him.

“Did you have something in mind you wanted to do?” Bro thought to ask. “Maybe should have asked that before we left town.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I wasn’t planning on anything. I’m sort of surprised I even found you. You’re like Carmen Santiago, really. Shits like Schrodinger’s older brother.”

Bro snorted a laugh. “I mean it’s not like I’m hiding. My phone number is listed.”

“Thank God for that. And thank god for google, or else my ass would still be entrenched in old census records,” Dave joked. “I do have an idea though. For something to do, just thought of it.”

“Lay it on me,” Bro said.

“Lightning round question session. If you’re comfortable with that, of course,” Dave’s eyebrows rose.

“What exactly is a lightning round question session?” Bro

“One of us asks a question, the other answers it but the asker doesn’t get to ask additional questions,” Dave’s description was concise and easy to understand. Bro wasn’t sure if it sounded very fun, but the idea of learning about Dave just a little piqued his interest.

“Sure. I’ll play.”

“Great. You can go first.”

Oh. Well alright then. He gave himself a moment to think of a typical conversational question, fearing sounding invasive.

“What’s your favorite color?” He decided on.

“Red. Duh. My turn, what’s your favorite movie?”

“The Last Samurai. Favorite music genre?”

“I like a lot of stuff. But I make remixes, so I guess remixes.” That was pretty cool, Bro thought. “Same question.”

“I like a lot of stuff too. I like rap. But I’m gonna have to listen to your mixes sometimes too.” Bro felt himself relaxing. He was leaning on the backrest fully, his shoulders slack and his jaw loosening. Dave was doing something similar, getting comfortable by kicking off his converse. He turned on the futon, facing Bro and folding his legs under him.

“What’s your middle name?” Bro asked, growing a little bolder, a little more personal.

“Ethan. As stupid as it sounds, but could have been worse. What about you?”

“Emerys,” Bro said. “Sunrise or sunset?”

“Sunset. Sunrise is too damn early,” Dave joked. “Do you have a nickname, or does everyone call you Ambrose?”

“Sorta. Strangers call me Ambrose. Most people I get around call me Bro,” he replied, and from there, his words sort of trailed off. The next question was forgotten.

The way Dave was looking at him said it all. Though his eyes were shielded behind his sunglasses, his expression was still readable. Judging by the rapidly reddening tips of his ears, paired with a smile and the fact he had to wipe the sweat off his palms every few minutes he was a nervous brand of excited. He could hold eye contact, but not for too long.

Despite not knowing a thing about him, Bro thought highly of Dave. It was like he’d brought the home fires with him, and used them to brighten the whole house. His presence was almost nostalgic like they’d done this whole thing before, like he’d known Dave a hundred years.

Dave used his left hand to push his bangs out of his face. That brought in to focus a light dusting of freckles across his nose that would darken in the intense Texas sunlight. It made warmth spread through his chest and pooled high up near his heart.

“You gonna ask another question?” Dave quizzed.

“Oh,” Bro muttered, tearing his gaze away from the finer features of Dave Strider. “What’s your favorite pizza topping?”

  
  


* * *

 

Bro absolutely had to go to work the next day after he left early the day before. His alarm went off at its usual time, he got dressed in his usual scummy work jeans and trudged out into the kitchen to make coffee.

Something unusual greeted him. Dave was sprawled out on the futon, cuddled down in the blanket and still asleep. Bro hadn’t exactly thought about him being here the next morning, despite inviting him to stay the night. He’d woken up alone day after day, year after year but today there was another human being here.

Noiselessly as he could, Bro padded back on his way to the coffee maker. He scooped the grounds out of the can without much of a fuss, and soon a quiet stream of warm rich liquid flowed into the pot.

“Bro?” Dave’s sleep-addled voice came.

“It’s 6 in the morning,” Bro hushed, implying he still had time to sleep.

“Mmm,” was the only response. Bro figured that was probably a good thing. He went on with the rest of his routine after that, drinking his first cup and pouring another for the road. He grabbed his lunch out of the fridge, pulled his boots on, and he was almost out the door when Dave interrupted him again.

“Whut time d’you get home?”

“I work eight to four, I should be home by four fifteen,” he replied. “Don’t be in no hurry to get up.”

“Mm’kay. Bye.”

“See you later.”

 

* * *

 

Returning to work felt like the old brick building was sucking the life out of him. Coming to work every day had been his thing, Bro’s routine normal event. It went by pretty quick, and each day blurred into the next. But knowing Dave was at home waiting made the hours and minutes creep by.

He felt like he was in overdrive too, Bro would pick the hardest car to fix in the lot, liking the challenges they posed, but today he was all about fixing the small quick stuff. Like a large number of fixed cars could make up for how distracted he was. He sweated in the hot shop with the itchy, sticky feeling of the heat, but it was almost easy to ignore.

Bro kicked himself for not asking Dave to drive up to eat when he took his lunch break, but he was already halfway through his sandwich by then and eager for his time to be his again come four.

After lunch was oil change after oil change after break fluid check. Bro hated climbing down into the recessed pit in the floor, but it was easier to stand under a car than to crawl under it.

His co-workers could sense he was off and stayed out of his way, especially at quittin’ time. He only sped a little bit on the way back home. When he pulled in to his driveway, Bro didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to have company. Dave’s car was still where he parked it.

His fingers were black once again from the dirt and grime as he reached for his doorknob, and the familiar smell of fresh coffee and breakfast sausage wafted out to greet him. Dave was seated on the couch, almost all of him obscured by the cushion, save for the back of his head.

“Hey, you just get up?” Bro asked, kicking off his boots.

“Nah, but I just,” Dave replied, distracted. “Just got around to making food.”

“Oh?” Bro prompted, peeling off his socks and balling them up. He threw them on top of his pile of dirty clothes as he entered his room. Dave didn’t reply until Bro had changed into something that didn’t smell like exhaust and sweat.

“Dave?” He tried again.

The younger brother in question finally looked up and Bro saw what had him so distracted. There was a camera bag at his feet, black outside with a red inside, absolutely stuffed with items. Lenses and cleaners and more lenses and neck straps. The actual camera was on his lap, sleek and new without a scratch on it.

“Sorry, I Uh, sorry. I left my camera in the car and I was afraid it got too hot,” Dave explained, picking it up again to look through the viewfinder. Somehow Bro didn’t think that was it.

Instead of prodding though, Bro got himself a plate and a can of soda and sat down on the other end of the couch for a snack.

“You do okay by yourself?” He asked between bites.

“Fine, yeah, did great. No buglers or Jehovah’s Witness here on my watch, nope,” Dave babbled. “Had this place locked up like Fort Knox. Only it’s not gold inside it’s your house, so maybe not like for Knox maybe more like ADT Alarm Systems. Do you have those here?”

“Dunno. Seen ‘em on tv before,” Bro said but Dave didn’t reply again. What was the deal?

Bro finished eat and put his plate down on the floor next to him. He cracked his soda and sipped before setting it down too.

“Clothes washer is in the hall closet. You’re welcome to use it if you want,” Bro offered. “Usually put my clothes out on the line to dry.”

“Sweet. I will. I will do that,” Dave spilled out, “right now can I ask you a huge favor?”

A favor? Bro shifted uncomfortably. What, was he going to ask for money or something? His stomach dropped and anxiety twisted with it. This whole thing hadn’t been a sham, had it? He replied in the affirmative anyway.

“Sure.”

“Could I take your picture?” Dave’s expression was serious. Deadly serious. Bro’s gut twisted again and this time he was unfamiliar with the reason why.

“What for?” He found himself asking before his emotions even registered.

“I-,” Dave started but then he paused. Instead of continuing, he leaned down and grabbed his bag, which was still where he left it near the couch. He pulled the zipper on the worn canvas until the front compartment flap was wide open. From it, he pulled something Bro couldn’t exactly wrap his mind around. They were pictures. Of him.

The first photo was a picture of Bro when he was a baby. It was an old yellowed Polaroid from the eighties, and on the bottom of it was his weight and what time he was born. The second photo was also a Polaroid, except two years later. Bro was a toddler in that one. From there to the next photo was a huge jump in years. The early nineties brought better cameras, and school pictures of a teenage Bro. There were five of them, two taken on the same day, but all with terrible nineties fashion choices.

There were no pictures of him after nineteen Ninety-four. Bro was gone by then, but Dave kept pulling things out of the bag. There was a worn out old Hakki sack, one Bro recognized from throwing it around for years after high school. He pulled out a threadbare Nirvana T-shirt and an old flannel Bro was sure he’d worn together.

Finally, Dave pulled out a torn school notebook that Bro was sure had his writing inside. He was quiet after that. Quiet for a long time, staring at the small pile in front of him. Bro didn’t know what to make of this. Of any of this. But he wanted to understand. Dave was upset, evident by the hard crease in his forehead and the thin press of his lips.

“I have idolized the idea of you for as long as I can remember. I snatched up stuff out of boxes in the attic whenever I could. I wanted to know you. I wanted to talk to you and ask you stuff and see you. I was in love with the idea of you before I knew it, and I know that’s weird, but you’re exactly how I thought you’d be.”

Dave bit his lip when he paused. His words were full of meaning, as were the emotions that betrayed him on his face. He was scared and unsure, and a hundred feelings rolled into one that forced his chest to shake with every breath.

“Laid back and cool and tough. And this is so fucked up, but meeting you was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. You’re probably gonna get sick of me and throw me out, but could I take one picture of you to take back with me, please?”

“I’m not going to throw you out,” Bro stated, plain as he could with the weight of Dave’s words on his shoulders.

“I’ll leave if you want,” Dave offered again.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Bro shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you that I wanted to meet you my whole life too because I didn’t know you existed until today. But I don’t want you to leave.”

 

* * *

 

After that first night, Dave sort of made a permanent bed on the futon. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to stay either, but he made it a week without mention of leaving. By then it was mid-July, and mid-July meant heat. It was over one hundred degrees in the sunlight and it was a heat that lingered in the house shingles and pavement. Nights didn’t cool off much.

Bro was smart though, he’d spent a lot of money on shitty air conditioners over the years until he finally splurged and bought a good one. It stayed installed in the living room window year round so all that needed to be done was to flip it on.

The only downside to it was it didn’t cool the bedrooms off much. Bro’s room was still too hot to sleep in, so the only solution was to have a movie night. Several nights in a row.

That didn’t bother Dave much. He wasn’t a serious movie fan like he claimed his friend was, but he liked making fun of them just like Bro did.

“Dude as fucking if! If the bad guys are supposed to be trained assassins, there’s no way they’d miss a shot like that. Dude was wide open,” Dave complained, picking at his half melted ice cream. They’d wisely chosen something cold for dinner.

“Plot armor strikes again. Or maybe it doesn’t strike at all,” Bro laughed, stirring his own bowl of cold mush.

“Fuck, they could have at least had his jacket nicked or something.”

“And of course he gets the girl and they speed off into the sunset,” Bro agreed, ranging along with him.

“Goddamn heteronormative move romances.”

The screen faded to black as the movie protagonist made off, the credits rolling after that with a slow onslaught of characters and actors.

“Next movie?” Dave asked, picking another DVD off the pile they’d scored at a garage sale earlier.

“Just as long as it’s as terrible as the last one.”

“Eighties movies are hit and miss. There’s only one way to find out,” Dave replied, peeling himself off the futon and ambling over to the television. After some CD switching, a new title screen appeared and Bro waited for Dave to sit down again before he pressed play.

“Oh shit, this is one of those straight to DVD movies, isn’t it?” Dave groaned.

“Gotta be,” Bro agreed, leaning up to place his bowl on the coffee table. Dave mocked him, and again when Bro put his feet up and shifted back to the backrest.

Despite the movie being low budget and unsuccessful, it was pretty decent. It was dark in the room beside the blue glow of the television. The constant rattle of the air conditioner kept time for a chorus of crickets outside, where the movie lines served as lyrics to a one of a kind summertime song.

Bro pulled his beer from between his legs and sipped it leisurely. This was a new normal, and he quite liked it. Dave’s hip was slotted right next to his and their shoulders brushed occasionally. Skin on skin was something foreign feeling. To accommodate the close quarters, Bro had taken his shirt off some time ago so it was unavoidable. Especially when Dave moved to stretch and their biceps ended up pressed together.

Bro glanced his way from the side of his shades. Dave seemed completely focused on the movie, however. Defiantly not trying to put any sort of moves on him. Certainly not. Bro wouldn't even want him to, no, never. Especially not in his very real dreams. Bro didn’t move away from him. He let their arms touch, and he ignored the prickly feeling of goosebumps that seized the area.

The movie went on for another hour and a half, packed with action, bad Hollywood tropes and gunslinging. Bro didn’t spare Dave another glance, not even when he shifted again to lean more weight on him. The credits were rolling before long, and neither brother moved. It was nearly one in the morning, and Bro had to work tomorrow. He really should go to bed, and let Dave have the futon.

“Do you wanna watch another?” He asked anyway.

Bro looked over, only to see his brother's messy mop of straw-colored hair leaning on his shoulder. Oh. He’d fallen asleep. Well, there was only one thing left to do Bro decided. He hit the power button on the tv remote and closed his eyes too.

 

* * *

 

Bro had known it took more than two people to lift an engine out of a car. And he knew that it took more than one person to hold it up. He absolutely had known not to stick his hand down in the block to move where it was catching. He really, really should not have been surprised when his co-worker couldn’t hold the rope and the whole v8 came crashing down.

He really didn’t remember if it hurt or not, and he only vaguely remembered his boss yelling at him to go home. Somehow he did manage maneuver his truck back into the driveway. His hand was wrapped up in a towel, and it was sort of a struggle to keep compression on the bleeding and open the front door.

Dave’s head popped up over the back of the couch as the door creaked open. Bro had sort of forgotten he was here.

“Hey man, what happened?” Dave asked, getting up quickly.

Bro kicked the door shut and went to the kitchen sink without speaking. He went to the kitchen, going to the sink and Dave followed.

“Did you hurt yourself? What happened?” The younger pestered.

“Engine fell,” Bro grunted.

“On you?” Dave gawked.

“Yeah on me,” Bro huffed, resisting the urge to kick Dave out of the room completely. He looked down, staring at the once white shop towel now dotted with browning red blood. He took one deep breath and pulled it off, thrusting his hand over the sink to stop from making a mess.

It wasn’t as bad as he thought it was, actually. He’d taken all the skin off his knuckles but that wasn’t the half of it. The backs of his fingers were skinned pretty deep with a gash that went from the back of his hand to the tips of his fingers. His middle and ring finger were missing their nails now, and his entire hand was swollen and bruising.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Dave said firmly, peering over his good arm.

Bro exhaled his still healed breath. “For what? There’s nothing to stitch.”

“Tetanus shot,” Dave filled in. “Painkillers.”

“Got those,” Bro shook his head. He reached up into the cabinet he kept the paper plates in. On the top shelf, all the way to the back, there was an almost empty bottle of oxycodone left over from having a tooth pulled. He popped the top on it with his teeth and kicked back a single white pill.

“Go in the bathroom and in the cabinet over the sink there is sterile pads and tape.”

“Okay,” Dave said, and he was gone. He returned with three large boxes of the sterile pads, two rolls of medicinal tape and a bottle of peroxide.

“Fuck. Shit,” Bro swore. “I’m not gonna like, bleed out here, kid.”

“You still need to clean it out,” Dave replied.

“Don’t usually,” Bro huffed, leaning his hip on the sink.

“You still need to clean it out,” Dave repeated. “You’ll get an infection.”

“Alright, Alright,” Bro accepted. “Couch.”

He grabbed a clean dish towel on his way out of the kitchen. The bleeding was already starting to subside as the surface cuts clotted. The gashes down his fingers were leaking still though. The brothers sat down together with Bro’s hand between them.

Dave was gentle with his touch. He used one of the sterile pads to blot the peroxide on, slowly cleaning his wounds and his skin. Pink droplets streamed down his wrist and soaked into the towel. The chemical stung, but Bro wasn’t about to let Dave see him wince.

It felt like hours, but it was probably only five minutes. By the time Dave finished, the itching burn had crawled its way up Bros wrist and he rubbed it near constantly. Dave started right in on wrapping after putting the bottle of peroxide down. The bandage felt too hot and too constricting, but he’d need something to cover it until everything scabbed over. Bro didn’t dare flex his hand.

“That’ll probably hold you,” Dave said finally. “I used like a mile of that tape.”

Bro grunted in response, still waiting for his medicine to kick in.

“You gotta be more careful, you hear me? Can’t have you getting all busted up,” Dave continued, his words flowing into babble. “This shit’d be like General Hospital. ‘Paging Doctor Strider, your brother is in emergency,’ they’d say. And I’d have to dramatically look at the camera and say, ‘but I don’t have a brother!’ Gotta play it up. Gotta be serious about stupid shit, you know how soap operas are.”

That was.. actually sort of funny. Bro cracked a smile. “Sure. Except I can’t be your evil twin.”

“Oh my god, no, better,” Dave smiled. “You can be your own evil twin.”

Bro laughed, his hand almost forgotten by now. “We won’t even air two seasons.”

 

* * *

 

Summer came to a close with the quiet turning of the calendar. August leafed to September in the blink of an eye. There was no high school calling Dave’s name back home, just his mother on a cell phone that rang near constantly.

Each time Dave’s phone rang there was a certain anxiety that filled the room. He couldn’t not answer the phone for his own mother, and Bro could hear them deliberating even though Dave insisted he take her calls outside. It goes on like that for three days, and then Dave decides to just shut his phone off. The silence that follows is both a relief and an annoyance. There is absolutely nothing to say besides; “What do you want for dinner?”

“Let’s go out,” Bro suggests. Dave doesn’t say anything after that. There’s no budging Bro after he makes a decision. Instead, Dave goes to the front door and shoves his feet into his red converse.

Bro drove them to town. He always drove and Dave always rode shotgun. The ride was tense, and Bro’s words to the waitress were curt. She didn’t appreciate it and answered him with her usual snark. The lull that followed was interrupted only by the waitress bringing by a bottle of ketchup unprompted. Bro wasn’t even able to thank her as she walked away.

The dinner time rush was busy tonight. It was Friday fish fry night, so the Restaurant was filled with people laughing, kids crying and cooks yelling about orders. It wasn’t silent by any means but Bro couldn’t bring himself to untie his tongue.

They’d been skirting around the issue for days. Bro was a master at that. At ignoring what mattered in favor of shutting up like a steel trap and letting the problem either solve itself or put it off for good. Dave seemed to have inherited the same trait. His endless streams of bullshit muttering had dammed up too.

Dave probably never intended to stay forever anyway, Bro reasoned. He had a Mom and Dad and friends at home. There’s no way he’d move across the state just to live alone in a house with an estranged family member he’d known for three months. He’d… he’d call. Probably.

The sound of folks on plates grated his nerves. Other people spoke but Ambrose was deaf to their words. When the food came, neither of them touched it for several minutes until finally Dave picked his burger up and shoved it in his mouth. He didn’t take another bite though, he set it down after swallowing hard and set to staring at it.

This just couldn’t go on.

“What’s eatin’ you?” Bro asked finally.

“Mom wants me to come home,” Dave said awkwardly from behind his burger. Yeah, tell him something he didn’t know.

“Are you goin’ home then?” He found himself asking before he so much as thought about a response.

“I don’t know,” Dave replied. “Mom wants me to go to college and stuff. I wanted to take a year off. Sort stuff out.”

“What sort of stuff?” Bro blurted.

Dave flushed from his chest to the tips of his ears. “Oh. Uh. Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Don’t sound like nothing.”

“It is,” Dave pressed. “Nothing. It is nothing. I just. Well. I guess I just.”

He paused to sigh, and finally, he looked up to meet Bro’s gaze. “I don’t want to leave.”

Relief washed over Bro like a bucket of ice water to the head. Cool waves to calm his hot nerves. Dave didn’t want to leave. That was great. “Good.”

The eighteen-year-old cracked a crooked, shaky smile. “Good. I Uh. Was scared you wanted your couch back or something.”

“That couch might as well have your name on it,” Bro chuckled. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as he thought to ease back into normal conversation.

“Yeah? Same with you and my hair product,” Dave laughed, reaching over to grab the salt.

“Shits good, what can I say?” Bro shrugged with one shoulder. “Shits so good they’re gonna put me on Vogue.”

Dave snorted. This time when the talking stopped, it was comfortable. Drinks moved. Silver wear shuffled. They brushed hands once going for a knife. Dave’s leg casually brushed Bro’s under the table.

He moved it back, a social reflex to avoid crowding his brother. When Dave brushed him a second time, Bro looked up. Dave had his head down, shoving fries into his mouth like he wasn’t clumsily pushing Bro’s pant leg up with the rubber toe of his converse.

It wasn’t until Dave’s sock brushed his skin he understood what was going on. The goddamn kid was trying to play footsie. So this is what he meant by sort stuff out.

Humoring him, Bro twisted his leg just a little to rub skin against skin.

  
  


* * *

 

Dave stayed in town. He stayed sleeping on Bro’s couch, sharing meals and his home. Eventually, he got a job working at the grain elevator and became one of the only professional photographers in the area.

Summer became fall, almost too slow to notice. In the north, the leaves changed color and fell to the ground, but in the south, the foliage lingered. It was warm in Texas. The temperature still dropped, but nowhere near as drastic. The wind still whispered through the pines in Ambrose’s front yard, and the sun tea still made in the warm afternoon rays.

Fall meant the end of road trip season. The cars exiting the highway lessened until it was only local traffic, and the work at the mechanic's shop dwindled.

There was a stray apple tree in the backyard of the mobile home, the only fruit tree in what seamlessly became a barren hay field. Despite not touching the tree all year, it grew some pretty decent apples, enough for Dave to make a pie.

Time crawled on slow, and strange with someone new to share his home with, but vibrant fall faded into muted winter still.

 

* * *

 

“It’s one week until Christmas.”

“It is,” Bro agreed, slotting a candy cane between his teeth and his cheek.

“Do you want to do presents? Or get a tree?” Dave asked, folding his arms as he leaned over the back of the couch, looking down at his brother.

“If you do, I guess. Don’t have a tree stand. Or decorations. Or a tree,” Bro muttered. He thought back to the two holidays previous, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Halloween had gone alright, Dave was mostly okay besides being stir crazy. Thanksgiving, however, came with a full out meltdown. Bro didn’t think Dave liked being away from their parents and not celebrating the holidays, but he also didn’t want to go home.

“Walmart has all that stuff. I'm conflicted though because I don’t want it to look cheap,” Dave frowned.

“Probably shouldn't go to Walmart then,” Bro retorted. “What about a small tree this year? Tabletop.”

“What about lights and stuff?” Dave’s frown deepened.

“Alright. Alright,” Bro groaned, using a hand to push his hair back. “Alright. Get your shit, just get gone to Ma’s.”

“What? No. I don’t want to go to moms,” Dave rejected.

“It doesn’t need to be a big deal, Dave. Just go to Ma’s,” Bro tried to convince him. “I been by myself for Christmas for years, don’t bother me. But it bothers you.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me. What’s bothering me is you just fucking sit here like you’re dead,” Dave scowled. “Would it kill you to get up off the couch for once?”

Oh? He wanted to argue, did he? Bro was absolutely not playing that game. “Look. Just fucking go.”

“But I don’t want to! God, don’t you understand that, you stubborn idiot? I want to have Christmas with you!”

“Fine! I’ll go too, jackass,” Bro growled. Sitting up to level with his brother nose to nose.

“I didn’t think you…” Dave trailed off. “I didn’t think you wanted to see her. Or Dad.”

“I don’t. I ain’t got nothing to say to either of them, but I’ll go to make you happy,” Bro said, and he didn’t linger in the living room. He went to his bedroom and pulled an old bag out from under his bed. He threw it on to the bed and went to the closet.

Dave followed him, pausing in the doorway. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to do this.”

Bro inhaled sharply and exhaled slow, his tense shoulders deflating. He turned then, expression angry, and pulled off his sunglasses.

“What do you want then?” He tried not to snap.

“I just want to do something with you!” Dave said, exasperated. “God, this doesn’t need to turn in to a three-hour road trip for a week someplace neither of us wants to be.”

“What is the alternative?”

“The alternative is you stop acting like a fucking wall. No one can fucking negotiate with you, can they?” Dave tried to provoke him.

Dave looked down at his socked feet, and Bro could see his gold eyelashes flutter against his cheek. His freckles were fading in the shortening days, but his skin was just as unmarred and smooth as always. He looked up, reach up to pull his sunglasses off too. When they made eye contact there was no barrier.

“Look. This is just a stupid fight. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start something. I shouldn't try to force you to celebrate holidays you don’t care about.”

Bro cleared his throat and released the shirt he’d pulled out of his closet from his fingers. It soundlessly fell to the floor.

He walked over the debris on the carpet, closing the space between them. Ambrose was hesitant to touch Dave, afraid he’d pull away, so he moved slowly. One hand moved to rest on Dave’s hip, the other to take Dave’s hand in his. He knew everything was alright when he felt Dave squeeze.

“What are you doing?” Dave whispered.

“What I’m sure you wanted all summer,” Bro murmured, and gently he leaned in to press their lips together. He wasn’t afraid of Dave pulling away anymore. Especially not when his lips returned the kiss.

The whole summer had built to this. Every casual touch and laughing grin. Every dinner together and every hot night under the air conditioner. Dave almost leaving was the scariest part of the whole thing. Just the thought of it made anxiety stir in his gut.

This relationship was natural, like wading into the ocean until the waves covered your head. And going deeper still. Neither of them could back out now, not even if they wanted to.

Dave’s lips left his own with a soft, wet pop. He delved in again though, his nose nudging Bro’s as he tilted his head just slightly. Dave’s lean lips were perfect, a little chapped but still soft and pliable. They parted a second time, slower, with less space in between them before they leaned in again.

The third time they parted was for air. Bro’s lungs were screaming at him to come up for a breath, but his brain had other ideas. Dave painted lightly, his warm breath falling on his brothers bared neck.

“Regardless of a stupid fight, Dave, I’ll put in some effort if it means that much to you,” Bro murmured between them. “Alright?”

“Alright.”

It was Dave who moved to close the distance between them. The quiet sound of every pop of their lips filled the room and echoed into the hallway. His clothes still smelled like gas and oil, but not for long. Not with the scent of his visitor’s shampoo lingering. 

 


End file.
